Swoon and Fall Into My Arms
by Kyoshi7989
Summary: If denial is an art, then Toph and Sokka are truly artists. Tokka Oneshot


**Swoon and Fall Into my Arms**

_The same you, the same me  
Spoon feeding the ground dark soil  
A friend too good to go there with  
(Shake it up and get it on)  
Oh well I know you know you do  
And maybe you've not said in so many words  
You've always got your reasons  
You're right, little know it all_

_—Swoon_, Imogen Heap

* * *

They'd been in a wealthy Earth Kingdom area lately, and Sokka had just been asking her a few questions about her parent's estate, and though it was, as Toph told him in a pained, dead tone, "her one motivation to avoid Hell," she seemed unusually cheerful to oblige.

When he'd exhausted his list of questions about the kind of pastries a professional cook could create with a jar of flour, a bottle of vodka, a handful of sugar, and half an hour's noticed, Sokka waltzed off to spend some time goofing off with Aang. They'd enjoyed what Toph felt a perfectly normal, friendly conversation—her childhood crush on Sokka had faded as the years went by, or so she told herself—when Katara had to begin with, "Sometimes, the way he acts around you…" She shook her head and huffed in exasperation.

"Let's just say, if denial is an art, I'd like to see what Sokka has to show for his years of dedication,"Katara surmised dryly as she folded Aang's pants in a seamless motion that seemed almost too well-practice, too common for her. Of course, it was wrong to be surprised by it anymore: no matter _where_ they were, Katara was always down-graded to the job of folding laundry by the end of the third day.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Toph grumbled. "What is it with you _girls_, Sugar Queen? Why do ya hafta be so _cryptic_ all the time?"

'Sugar Queen' replied that it was sure a funny thing, because she was pretty sure that it was _Toph_ who'd come to her in need of underwear padding last night, and unless the fundamentals of biology had changed...why, wasn't _she _one of that 'cryptic class?' "And you don't have the right of be _rude_ just because it's 'that time of month,'" Katara sniffed, before disintegrating into yet another snappy rant, as seemed to be in such frequent occurrence whenever Aang abandoned hard-working Katara to play and have fun.

With unusual relief for something so annoying, Toph sat back, blocked out all of Katara's various complaints, and wondered what fried moose-lion tastes like, before moving on to more suitable topics...like how many times she'd have to spar Iroh again before she _finally_ won. Not a thought strays to what Katara might have meant, let alone to whether she could've been right.

It's quite true: If denial is an art, Toph and Sokka have enough pieces to fill a museum by now.

* * *

Their relationship is a progression of stumbles forward and leaps back, lazy like the relaxed atmosphere of a summer's day: the knowledge that there is plenty of time left to discover the world, and no real reason to rush.

Once, Sokka tried to teach her how to throw a boomerang.

"Curve your hand," he instructed, molding her callused fingers into the proper position. All business, Sokka didn't notice that Toph was almost a little _too_ business-like herself. She carefully fit her fingers alongside his, breathing deeply and paying closer attention then was custom for her. Naturally, it was all an elaborate scheme to keep from him how flustered she really was.

He deemed her grip satisfactory, and stepped away from her, allowing his hand to fall away. Toph exhaled as his skin departed from hers, now digging her feet into the dirt and breathing as fast or slow as she damn please.

"Now...throw!" Sokka ordered.

She flung out the boomerang as hard as she possibly could - which was, in all likelihood, harder then Sokka might be able to. Though he initially puffed with pride, Sokka watched with growing horror as the boomerang rebounded towards them at a dismaying height and a dangerous velocity. "Duck!" he yelled.

"Don't you mean turtle duck?" she asked, and almost exactly as she corrected him, the boomerang ricocheted off of her forehead. Toph wore the bruise across her brow for two weeks after the cuts healed. For years afterwards, Sokka chuckles inwardly every time his eyes are drawn to the small, but deep scar above her eyebrow, and for years even further in the distance, he takes to tracing the scar with his thumb as he cups her face in his hands.

* * *

In the timeline of their relationship, if it were to be spread out across a great distance and labeled, day by day, there would not be too many dates marked "Sokka does Toph's hair." As a matter of fact, there was only ever one in the first four years since they'd met. It was the kind of day when the air is still and there is absolutely _nothing_ to do after working your butt off three days in a row. Toph was a little bored herself, but she did have her limits on what she would do to escape it, and was immediately disgusted when Sokka found her and declared that he meant to mess around with her hair. Instinctively, Toph protested; used some line about how his boyfriend, Zuko, would be jealous, but Sokka appeared so indignant by her insult that she conceded to let him have his way.

"What exactly are you _planning_, Snoozles?" she asked warily, as she leaned back against Appa's tail, closing her eyes. Immediately, his fingers descended onto her head, pulling and plucking like he was conducting a symphony.

"I'm going to braid your hair," Sokka answered, a softer quality in his voice, reminiscent of home—or at least reminiscent of what home _should _be. There was something nice about having him mess around with her hair; something soothing about his callused fingers sliding through her hair that made her feel like she could trust him with almost _anything_.

With an uncanny precision, Sokka separated her hair into three sections. She shivered at the unfamiliar sensation as he wound them together, with slow, but precise movements. Briefly, Toph wished she could see it, even for a moment.

Sooner then she might have liked him to be, Sokka was done with the braid. He'd left two strands near her temples and she felt his hands brush her ears as he tucked them into the top of her ponytail. "Ta-da!" he exclaimed proudly.

For about half a minute, it looked like Toph was actually…_please_. She reached up gingerly to cup her ponytail, tracing the lines of her hair from front to back with an expression on her face that was almost shy. Partly shocked, partly filled with wonderment of his extraordinary hairdressing skills, Sokka drank in the shape of her face as he'd never seen it before…

…and, apparently, was never going to again, because _just_ as he'd become comfortable considering a career in hairdos, Toph ripped hers apart, leapt up, and shouted, "Now it's _my_ turn, Snoozles!"Sokka felt distinctly frightened, and with good reason. An hour later, his head was caked with mud (or 'styling gel,' as Toph fondly called it) and he bored a striking resemblance to a sad circus clown with a handle-bar mustache and a unibrow.

* * *

A point that should be made: don't even _ask_ about Suki, that bitch.

For the record, the former accusation is all Sokka's contribution—don't look at Toph like that!Well. _Almost_ all Sokka's contribution.

* * *

While Toph did enjoy toying with him from time to time, she was never nearly as mean to him as everyone seemed to believe. Sure, she'd tease him from time to time, and she might go out to annoy him specifically on a slow day, but Toph was never bent on torturing to him. In fact, she often took care to be nice to him—within reason. The two of them worked better together then anyone else, and Toph, whatever self-destructive qualities she had inherited, knew better than to frighten him away with too many insults.

But there were times when Toph just couldn't help it.

"Hey, Snoozles," she said cheerfully as she walked by. "Your jerkbender boyfriend, Princess Hotpants, wants to see you. Something about how you're a prissy little girl and no matter how many times you complain, he isn't going to let you top."Sokka looked like he'd been beat over the head with a club, staring at her with his mouth agape. Then, he gritted his teeth and lunged for her. "I am going to _kill_ you—"

"Come on, Sokka, don't take your relationship problems out on _me_," Toph simpered as she danced away, stepping backwards over rocks and outgrown tree roots. Meanwhile, Sokka stumbled over everything from a boulder to a pebble.

"You are going to _pay_ for that," Sokka shouted, right before Toph kicked her heel into the dirt, and tripped him from ten feet away, sending him face-down into a puddle of what was probably mud, and might've been something worse.

She through back her head and choked on her laughter as Sokka spit out brown goop onto the grass between curses.

"Now would be a good time to give up," she said through breaths of uncontrollable laughter. Sokka glared, tried to get up, and tripped again.

Oh, how Toph _adored_ knowing Sokka.

* * *

The end is the most boring part of the story, in their shared opinion. Sokka kisses Toph and she kisses back and oh, well, maybe there's a bit more story behind all of that, but who _really_ gives a damn? They know they'll still be recounting it to their grandchildren forty years later.

It's not the ending that's important—it's getting there.

* * *

"Sokka?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think that…well."

"Think what?"

"Do you think that they'll…that they'll forgive me?"

"Who?"

"…my parents."

"Why wouldn't they?"

"Because they don't—oh, I don't know. I mean…I ran away from home. I turned out to be everything they hate about people. Would _you_ forgive me if you were them?"

"Of course."

"Why?" It was small voice, suddenly tired and insignificant under the vast sky. All they are is a prick of light among thousands; a single campfire in hundreds spread across the globe; four sleeping mats; two of their occupants awake; and a sole pair of eyes to watch the moon. Sokka's eyes followed its trail of light momentarily, but soon shift to the slumped girl (she will be a woman, soon) before him.

"Because…well, you're Toph Bei Fong. And they love you, don't you?"

"…"

"Right? I mean, forgiveness, compassion; all of that stuff. That's what love is all about."

"Would you…would you love me…if you were them?"

"What kind of a question is that? Of course I would, Toph."

Her lips barely moved in response. "…_thank_—"

He didn't hear. "Now will you _please_ be quiet? Your parents love you, I love you, and we'll both forgive you if you ever screw things up again. Go to sleep."

A moment of realization, of backtracking over what has been said.

A skip of the heart._'I love you.'_

Not a chore, as if she were his sister. Not a reluctant confession to another it's a fact. _'The sky is blue. Aang is the Avatar. I love you.'_

Like an unfinished sentence, reminding her that there is room to build.

_'I love you.'_

Then, after being dampened by practicality for too many years, hope swells and thrives in her chest until Toph fears her ribs might crack under the pressure.

When she can contain it no longer…a slow, thrilling smile.

"Sweet dreams, Sokka."

"Yeah, you too."

Tonight, sweets dreams will most certainly _not_ be a problem.

* * *

Since the building conclusion of a story makes people curious of such things, the very, _very_ beginning goes something like this: 'well, you're not too annoying and you make me laugh. Let's be friends. (Let's be more.)'

* * *

Scenes you may be missing:

Sokka attempt to teach her how to cook. Predictably, they blow up Zuko's kitchen.

Sokka tries to instruct Toph in fencing. As he's trying to adjust her arm, the sword slips and the hilt hits him _where_ it hurts.

They coach Katara, slightly unstable after the end of her relationship with Aang and very, very eager to prank her ex after a bitter break-up, in the fine art of practical jokes.

At the far-off ages of eighteen and twenty one, Sokka tells Toph he loves her. They kiss passionately.

This, perhaps, should be explained.

* * *

Though they recount a slightly different version to their grandkids (it changes with every telling. Sometimes, they're on the top of a volcano and fighting two hundred rebels while blindfolded, with their hands tied behind their backs), this is how it happens—

Again, they lie, flat on their backs, this time, alone beneath an endless ocean of stars. Months have blended into a year and a half of traveling seperate from Katara and Aang; the world can never have too many heroes at a time, after all. The sounds of the forest—rustles in the leaves, crickets chirping, soft 'coos' of the birds still awake—spun around them in an almost dizzying motion. A less avid fan of noises than the blind young woman who had relied on them for much of her life, Sokka spoke first. "Hey, Toph?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

She'd only known for two years now. (What kind of startling revelation could he possibly expect from her?)

"I know," Toph replied dreamily. (Apparently, not much of one.)

There was a moment's pause. "That was a slightly overwhelming moment for me," Sokka commented.

"Let's fix that," Toph answered immediately, sliding out of her sleeping bag and crawled towards his. As she slipped her agile body beneath the blanket, she bent over him until their noses were inches apart.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this," Toph muttered, her hair drifting into her eyes. "And by the spirits, I'm going to enjoy it."

Insert the long-awaited first of many thousands of passion kisses…_here_.

"Something to remember about kissing me," she whispered against his lips, as his arms holding her snugly across his body. Again, Sokka pressed his mouth to Toph's, and here, her grin was widest of all. "You better be getting used to it."

* * *

**A/N:** My first Tokka fic in a while...! :) Very cutesy-wutesy, I know, but I was in the mood. =3 Hope you enjoyed!

Swoon and fall into my arms


End file.
